


Auditions

by bingbong21



Series: Let's Get This Show on the Road [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boyband, Humor, Light Angst, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, diet angst if you will, the boyband au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bingbong21/pseuds/bingbong21
Summary: Once upon a time, Voltron was a household name in the music industry. Now, years after the fall of Altea Recording Company, Allura is hosting auditions for the newest incarnation of Voltron in the hopes of destroying Galra Records's monopoly on the industry.





	

Peeking from around the corner, dark grey eyes took in the massive crowd chanting his stage name, some waving signs and glow sticks. He could feel his pulse fall in rhythm with the chants, entire being growing in sync with the energy of the crowd.

_Cham-pi-on! Cham-pi-on!_

A hand clasping his shoulder brought him out of the spell. He turned to look at his stage manager, a smaller man wearing glasses looked up at him. Despite the disheveled appearance his mop of brown hair gave him, the grin that lit up his face showed that he was anything but tired.

“You ready to rock Shiro?”

“Always Matt,” Shiro replied, returning the infectious grin with one of his own. Matt nodded, pulling a radio to his mouth and speaking stage directions into it. Shiro took one more deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, heading for his mark in the middle. A hush slowly came over the crowd as, despite his best efforts to be quiet and unseen, some saw the movement of shadows across the stage and signaled to their friends to be quiet. As he reached the mark, grasping the mike stand in his hand, he could feel the energy that had been quietly building all night bubble beneath the surface, begging to be let free. Even if the company he worked for was nothing short of monstrous, he couldn’t deny himself the thrill of the performance; of going onstage and making something beyond explanation happen.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready?”_

The screams and shouts that responded caused a smile to grace Shiro’s lips. He readied himself into the opening stance, heart paused in its beats as he waited for the start of the music. That was probably the worst part of performing, out of all of it: the anticipation. But as he heard the bass line start and felt that rush as his pulse began to pound, he knew that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

_“Then give it up for…The Champion!”_

Light flooded the arena as Shiro’s voice rang out, his rich baritone intertwining with the music that his band produced behind him seamlessly. He leaped forward, leaning down with the mike stand in his arm; fans reached out towards him, clamoring amongst themselves for a chance to maybe get sweat on by _the_ Takashi Shirogane, aka Galra Records’ Champion. He reached out, fingertips just barely brushing hands as he walked down the stage, flashing each and every one of them a smile. Many began fanning themselves; he thought he even saw one faint, falling backwards into the crowd. He straightened up, cutting a sharp turn as he strutted back to his mark, pointing out towards the crowd as he moved. As he got closer to the mark he pivoted, feet immediately smoothly transitioning into a moonwalk back to the ‘x’ that marked the floor. He ran his fingers through his forelock, dyed a shocking white in comparison to his jet black hair, tossing the hair back with a slight jerk of his head.

Shiro couldn’t see them due to the blinding lights on stage, but he knew that he had whipped his fans into a frenzy. Matt always told him that anytime he played with his hair in any way, half the audience would lose their minds and the other half would feed off the energy; he had even used a mathematical formula to prove it. Shiro had playfully teased him about it afterwards, asking how one even goes about _creating_ a formula to calculate that, much less getting accurate data. But, he knew he had somehow; he was Matt Holt, genius stage manager of Galra Records, able to do incredible things with the outdated equipment that they gave them.

Shiro’s foot tapped along with the beat, the lyrics to the second verse pouring from his mouth as easily as breathing. They had performed this set so many times by now that everything was second nature; Shiro could have easily just let his mind wander during a show like some of his coworkers. But that never felt _real_ to Shiro, never felt _genuine_ , and if there was one thing Shiro was going to do, it was give his fans a real genuine show. So Shiro let the emotions and neurochemicals wash over him, bathing in it as he bared his very essence to the people standing at their seats. He never looked at a show as just a way to make money and get famous; he always looked at it as an experience, and tonight he was going to make sure was a good one.

The bridge was coming up, and with that Shiro took the mike off the stand and stood in front. The critics were always amazed at how a man of Shiro’s size could move their body so fluidly and quickly as they danced, as if every minute twitch of his muscles was planned. He always responded that it was through his strict training regime enforced by Zarkon, but it did help that he loved the hip-hop variant that they practiced. It was mainly his feet and hips that moved during performances, a blur of fluid and sensual movements, but it required his entire body to be under his control at all times. Out of the corner of his eyes, Shiro could see various stage hands getting everything together for the final rendition of the chorus. Matt had excitedly told him all about it on the bus; how, even though the equipment was old, he figured out a way to rig some pyrotechnics into the show. Flames were supposed to shoot upwards from the ends of the stage, a “fiery end to his fiery performance” as Matt said. He knew Matt had been wanting to do pyrotechnics for a while, but every time he had put in an equipment request form they had been denied. Finally, it seemed they were given the greenlight, albeit a very old one, but they weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As Shiro struck his final pose and the last notes rang out, pillars of flame erupted at the sides of the stage. He could hear the collective gasp of the crowd through the pounding in his ears; the anticipation was always the worst part. But it was all worth it when the deafening roar of the crowd slammed into him, pulling an exuberant smile from his face. He gave a slight bow before walking back to the mike stand, placing the mike back where it belonged.

“How are we doing tonight Garrison county,” Shiro called out, working to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. Cheers and screams were his only response, “Sounds like we’re doing alright; must’ve put some of you to sleep.”

Above the roar of the crowd disagreeing with him he could hear a few fans saying that he could _never_ put them to sleep. “Huh, guess my hearing must be going then. Because, you know, when people are doing _great_ , they give a way better response than that.”

For some reason, it always took a second jab at the crowd to get a deafening roar of approval and positivity and, like clockwork, he was greeted with what they assumed to be a response indicative of feeling _great_. He laughed at that, the sound caught by the mike and echoing throughout the arena.

“Alright, you’ve proved your point,” He said, raising his hands in defeat, “We’ve got a great show for you tonight; I’m really excited to share it with you. So, without further ado, let’s-”

No one was really sure what he was going to say next though, because the next sounds were panicked screams coming from both the crowd and the wings. Shiro startled, glancing over to the side where he knew Matt would be, only to see him staring up into the rafters, the glint of fire reflected in his glasses. Shiro looked up just in time to see the lights come crashing down upon him, the ropes holding them there burned off because of the fire.

* * *

 

 “Stupid grocer and their stupid plastic bag tax,” A young man grumbled, arms full of various groceries without bags. Some plastic bags, filled almost to the point of dangerously bursting, hung from his arms, with mail clasped in between fingers. He shook his head, long black hair moving out of his face as he stood before the apartment door. He sighed, swiftly putting the mail in his mouth before maneuvering to his pocket for the keys; he fiddled for a moment before finding the right one. Inserting it into the lock, he pushed his body weight into it, opening the door with a loud bang and a muttered curse.

“Phiwo,” He began, before spitting the mail out onto the table by the door, “Shiro, come help with the groceries!”

Slowly a man came to the entryway, dressed in a loose-fitting black tee and gray sweatpants. His forelock was still dyed a stark white, but a scar ran horizontal across his nose. He reached out for some of the groceries, his robotic prosthetic right arm brushing against the plastic bags.

“Keith, you do realize you can make two trips right,” Shiro asked, carrying the items into the kitchen. Keith rolled his eyes, following right after him.

“And you do realize people who make two trips are pansies, right,” Keith retorted, readjusting the items that he was left with. He noted that Shiro had elected to take the items in his arms, leaving him with the plastic bags that were currently leaving indents in his pale skin. He glared at Shiro’s back as he followed him into their kitchenette.

“Hey, I make more than one trip,” Shiro called back, looking over his shoulder. Keith smirked, finally having a chance to set the bags down.

“I know.”

“Brat,” Shiro muttered, placing items away into their rightful spots. Even before his accident, Shiro had had a very particular way to setting up the kitchen and where each type of food should go; now, unemployed and dealing with the aftermath, it seemed to have gotten worse. Keith let it slide however, as he only ever set foot in the kitchen when Shiro wasn’t feeling up to making anything and they had nothing left for ordering take-out.

“So what did you do all day,” Keith asked, electing to ignore Shiro’s insult as he walked over to the table where the mail sat. He grimaced slightly at the damp spot where his teeth obviously dug into the envelopes, “Watch ‘Price is Right’ and tell kids to get off our lawn?”

“Hilarious.”

The corner of his lips tugged upwards as he sifted through the letters. Rent was due soon, as were the utilities, cable and internet…Some more take-out menus, and a sale paper that Keith could have probably _used_ earlier today, _damn it_. But what caught his eye was an envelope appearing to contain a card; on closer inspection, he saw that it was written in an elegant script, as if the writer had practiced calligraphy their entire life. What was even more interesting was that it was addressed to _Shiro_ , who hadn’t received a card since his parents decided to send him one from Japan along with a care package. He dropped the other mail back onto the table, fingering the envelope as he made his way back to the kitchen.

“Hey Shiro, looks like you got something.” Shiro paused in putting away various non-perishables in the cupboard, regarding Keith over his shoulder.

“Who’s it from?”

“Dunno,” Keith mumbled, squinting at the envelope as if it the sender’s name would magically appear, “Return address is local though, if that helps.”

Shiro took the letter from Keith’s outstretched hand, muttering a quiet thanks. Carefully he ripped open the envelope, pulling out a folded piece of paper from inside. He could tell that the letter was handwritten, as some of the ink had begun to bleed through the page and left dark splotches on the other side. He felt more than saw Keith peer over his shoulder as he unfolded the letter and began to read.

      _Dear Mr. Shirogane,_

_I apologize for the mysteriousness of this letter; I feared that if I openly wrote who I am, you would have thrown it away without hearing my proposition. But, if you are reading this, then allow me to state my offer._

_My name is Allura, and I am the director of the Altea Recording Company. It is alright if you haven’t heard of us; we are admittedly a small company, consisting of myself and Coran, a close family friend. I am writing to offer you an opportunity to meet with me this Monday at 9 am at the return address, with the hopes that you will be willing to begin employment with us. After what has occurred to you under Galra Records, I understand if you wish to reject my offer by either refusing to show up or coming to refuse in person. But know this: You are not the only one Zarkon has harmed in his quest for power, nor will you be the last. If you wish to fight against him, to put a stop to him, then please consider my offer._

_I await your response,_

_Allura_

“You’re being offered a job.”

Shiro nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “It looks like it,” He croaked, fingers tightening their grip at the edges of the paper. The letter had brought back hundreds of memories, both good and bad, with only two eloquently handwritten paragraphs. The long grueling hours, the rush of the performance, the harsh diets they enforced, long hours spent talking with Matt about everything and anything, and…and the _accident_. Being pinned underneath burning stage lights, Matt running out from the wings to try and help, waking up in an unknown hospital without a right arm, Matt coming to visit but looking so haggard and guilty, attorneys coming into the room, hundreds of pages of legal documents all saying the same thing: Leave quietly and maybe we’ll help. It wasn’t until Keith grasped his attention by putting a hand over his that Shiro realized he had almost ripped the letter in half, arms trembling from the exertion.

“You don’t have to meet her.”

“Heh, didn’t you tell me last week to ‘get out more’,” Shiro weakly attempted at the joke, giving Keith a smile which looked more like a grimace. Keith’s brow furrowed even further, blue-grey eyes shining with concern and worry.

“Not if it’s going to hurt you,” Keith replied, “This is different than going to join a book club with a bunch of PTA moms.”

“I know,” Shiro sighed, grip relaxing on the letter, “But she mentioned stopping Zarkon. Keith, you don’t understand how he treated me, the other artists…. how he treated _Matt_. I owe it to them to at least see what Allura wants before I make my decision.”

Quiet filled the room, the kind of silence that gives the air a tangible weight that seems to press on you from all sides. Shiro could see the gears of Keith’s mind turning behind his eyes, the scales weighing each and every response with a meticulousness reminiscent of a chemist. Keith may be brash and impulsive but, when it came to Shiro’s health, he was always treading so carefully through the minefield, always cognizant to give gentle nudges in the right direction; a joke about watching game shows here, mentioning how the flowers were blooming in the park there…small things, prompts to try and guide him back to the life he had before Galra. Some days, when the memories followed him like shadows, Shiro was grateful that Keith never tried to push him beyond the limits that he had set for himself. But on the nights when Keith collapsed on the couch exhausted from work, or when he stared longingly at a photo taken at the college that he had dropped out of in order to help Shiro, Shiro wished that Keith would come barging in, screaming and crying in a manner similar to when he fought through security to see him in the hospital, and tell him to _get off his ass and fucking **do** something_.

“I have to do this Keith,” Shiro reiterated, mind already set. He would go and talk with Allura, consequences be damned; maybe he would even accept the offer, if only as a way to get petty revenge on Zarkon.

Keith sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine; but I’m coming with. Can’t have you wrecking my bike on your way there.”

“You’re letting me drive Red?” Red was a bright cherry red standard motorcycle that was one of Keith’s few prized possessions. As a result, Keith was fiercely protective of it, refusing to let anyone come near it lest they wished to retreat with broken bones. Fondly Shiro remembered the first time he saw Red, and how Keith had viciously slapped his hand away when he instinctively reached out to touch it.

“I’m sure as hell not letting you take the bus,” Keith shrugged, “Besides, I’m only letting you drive as long as I’m with you. Take it or leave it.”

“Thanks Keith,” Shiro replied, placing his left hand on Keith’s shoulder. “It…really means a lot to me.”

Keith’s features softened into a rare appearance of gentleness that was only ever directed at Shiro. He placed his own hand on top of Shiro’s, giving a reassuring squeeze, fingers slotting between Shiro’s. As Shiro returned the smile, a thought flitted across his mind; he frowned, eyebrows knitting together. Keith’s own expression hardened instantly with worry, head tilting slightly to the side.

“Shiro? What’s wrong?”

“How exactly _did_ you bring all the groceries back on Red?”

* * *

 

The days after the arrival of the letter seemed to fly by, and in the blink of an eye Shiro realized that it was the morning of his meeting with Allura. Apparently when one has something to look forward to and plan for, the slow march of time picks up tempo. Although, he mused as he sped down the highway with Keith clinging onto him from behind, considering that he hadn’t really remembered how he got onto the bike it was most likely something far less optimistic. Before Shiro’s mind could do any real damage to his mood, he decided to actually acknowledge his surroundings as he weaved through cars.

The weather had decided to cooperate, providing sunshine and bright blue sky as far as the eye could see. The sky was peppered with the fluffiest looking clouds and, off to their right, the tops of tall buildings. Those buildings, Shiro knew, belonged to the city of Arus; a small city, mostly known for its surrounding beautiful parks and lakes, but certainly a hub of activity once you arrived. It helped that in the dead center was the university, allowing for the city to expand and come to life around it. Both he and Keith had attended there for their aeronautic program, before Shiro had been picked up by Galra and ultimately the accident occurred. Since then, he personally hadn’t been there, though he could faintly recall Keith mentioning going into the city sometimes.

“Take this one,” Keith shouted into his ear, above the roar of the wind and Red’s engine. Shiro nodded, properly signaling and getting off the highway, easing off the throttle as they cruised down the ramp. They rolled to a stop at a light, giving Shiro a moment to look over his shoulder at Keith.

“What’s after this?”

“Uh…it’s saying go straight, then take a left at Golion street.” Shiro nodded, head turning just as the light went green. He jerked the bike forward, chuckling slightly as he felt Keith flail behind him before desperately latching his arms back around his middle. He could feel the muffled curse being muttered into his back, the light jab into his stomach at the sudden movement. All of it reminded him of simpler times, when the two of them would go off campus for rides on Red for the simple sake of exploring for exploration’s sake; of days spent shirking off studying in favor of going to their favorite coffee shop across town just because it wasn’t on campus. Despite the cool whip of the wind, Shiro felt himself warm up at the memories, lips lifting up into a smile.

“Oi, you’re gonna drive past it!”

Shiro snapped out of his reverie, slowing the bike down as he noticed that he had successfully turned onto Golion Street. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Keith point towards a white building on the left; he pulled up to the sidewalk across from it, parking the bike. He smoothed out his clothes, black vest slightly wrinkled from having crouched over the bike and from Keith’s grip. He took off his black helmet, tossing it to Keith as he ran his fingers through his hair, working to make it look presentable instead of like it had been underneath a helmet.

“Well,” He asked, turning around to face Keith. Keith set the black helmet down on the back of the bike, head tilted to the side as his eyes roved over Shiro.

“You’re a little rusty on the park job, and you didn’t give me a warning when you started the bike, but other than that, you did alright.”

“ _Keith_.”

“You look fine,” Keith gave a small smile, “And you’ll be fine. But if anything seems fishy, or you just want the hell out of Dodge, shoot me a text and I’ll be right over.”

“And if _you_ somehow manage to get into trouble while I’m here, you shoot me a text and I’ll be right over.”

“You’re going to be like, an hour max probably; what the hell can I do in that short of time?”

“I can think of ten separate occasions.”

“That’s definitely an exaggeration since I can only think of three.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night Keith,” Shiro conceded, turning towards the entrance of the building. He tossed his hand up in a final departing gesture before pulling the glass doors open and stepping inside.

While the outside of the building was a pristine white with blue accents, the inside appeared a bit more dated. There were still blue accents on the walls, but instead of standing out against a brilliant white they were painted against a shade of grey. The furniture in the lobby was a mixture blue and white, in a style that while may have been modern during it’s time of interior decorating was certainly outdated now.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Shirogane!”

Shiro’s attention was pulled to the lobby’s main desk, where the Australian accented voice had called from. There he saw a man with hair the shade of orange found in a sunset, mustache the same shade. Underneath his oddly purple eyes were blue tattoos, looking as if they were meant to frame the eye. Shiro stepped forward to the desk, feeling a wave of self-consciousness crash over him.

“Um, Shiro is fine. And you are…?”

“Oh, where are my manners,” The man replied, reaching out and grasping Shiro’s prosthetic in both hands. He continued on, ignorant of the way Shiro stiffened. “The name is Coran; Allura told me that she mentioned me in her letter to you. I’m the company’s receptionist, PR manager, nutritionist, and mechanic!”

“That’s…quite a lot of different jobs.” Shiro replied, returning the enthusiastic handshake before slipping his arm back to his side.

“Oh well, we don’t exactly have a lot of staffing,” Coran mentioned, waving his hand dismissively. “But don’t worry about me; despite my age, I’m still as sprightly as any young spring chicken!”

“I can see that.” Shiro said, feeling a smile form on his face despite himself. Coran’s energy and upbeat mood was certainly infectious; if he found that he wouldn’t mind working closely with him.

“Now, go off and have a seat over there, and I’ll let Allura know you’ve arrived.” Coran pointed over to some seats. Shiro nodded, heading over to the seats and sitting; he felt himself sink into the cushions. He glanced over to the pile of magazines to his left, noting that similar to the style of the furniture they were incredibly outdated. Still, he pulled one out, casually flipping through it; there might actually be information that he didn’t know in there. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but in the middle of an article about some celebrity marriage he felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out, unlocking it and smiling as he saw that it was a text from Keith.

_Everything going alright?_

He typed out a reply, not noticing that the front door had opened. _Yes mom, everything is going fine. Go back to drinking your latte._

“Mind if I sit here?” Shiro glanced up from his phone, mouth ready to reply when he suddenly felt his heart stop. The person standing in front of him, with their ruffled brown hair and light brown eyes staring at him from behind glasses, looked so _familiar_ ….so similar to Matt that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. But…no, this wasn’t Matt; they were shorter than him, and Matt wouldn’t wear such a baggy green and white shirt or cargo shorts. Well, okay, he would _definitely_ wear the cargo shorts, but they wouldn’t be as baggy as they were on this person. But if this person wasn’t Matt, then why did they look so familiar? It certainly wasn’t….maybe…?

The person in front of him coughed, snapping him out of his thoughts and forcing Shiro to realize that he had been staring for quite some time. He felt a flush creep up his face as he nodded, pointedly avoiding looking at them as they sat beside him. He felt his phone buzz again and quickly unlocked it, thankful for the distraction.

_I’m too poor for a latte and you know it._

He opened up the picture that came with the message, rolling his eyes as he saw Keith’s middle finger next to a coffee almost as black as his hair. He glanced at the gallery icon in the corner of the picture, and before he knew it he was looking through his phone’s gallery, finger frantically swiping upwards through the years of memories. He finally saw what he was looking for, thumb tapping on the image to enlarge it; a picture of Matt, standing in front of a university’s rocket statue, arm slung around his younger sister.

_Only 14 and already in university!_

That was what the message had said about Katie Holt, Matt’s genius sister. He remembered occasionally visiting their family, smiling as he watched Matt and Katie argue over codes, robotics, and general science in terms that were far above his comprehension. Remembered how Katie, who while wanting to go into robotic engineering, was more than content to help Matt modify their special effects machines. Who was closer to Matt than Shiro himself, who was probably willing to put themselves _right into the line of fire to avenge Matt_.

Right as Shiro turned to begin questioning the person sitting next to him though, he heard Coran call his name. He muttered a curse, returning his magazine back with the others and heading towards the front desk. He could feel the stranger’s eyes on his back as he walked, analyzing his every move; so similar to Katie, it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Allura’s in her office,” Coran said, gesturing towards the door, “It’s the third door on the right.”

Shiro nodded, muttering his thanks as he pushed through the door. He heard Coran call the stranger’s name- did he really hear Pidge? He pushed the thought aside though, reaching the third door on the right and knocking with his left hand.

“Come in,” A woman’s voice called out, voice melodic with a British accent. Shiro opened the heavy door, closing it behind him. Across the room from him, sitting at a large wooden desk and furiously typing away at a computer, was a young woman with long curly white hair. Her skin tone was much darker than Coran’s, and the tattoos underneath her blue eyes were a light pink instead of blue. She pulled her eyes away from her computer, leaning over the desk as she offered him her hand and a bright smile.

“Mr. Shirogane, what a pleasure it is to meet you,” She began, “My name is Allura.”

Shiro took the hand, grateful that her handshake was far less enthusiastic than Coran’s. “Please, just call me Shiro.”

“Of course,” She replied, sitting back down in her chair. Shiro sat in the chair in front of her desk, noticing that unlike the ones in the lobby he didn’t sink into it. His eyes wandered around the room, taking note of the sparse decorations and bookshelf lined with various novels and books about law. Behind Allura was a large window, looking out at the city coming alive; just as he began to enjoy the view, however, Allura drew the blinds.

“I apologize,” Allura stated, “But, since this office is on the ground floor, it is highly likely someone may see the famous Takashi Shirogane and report it to the media. And, whether this meeting is fruitful or not, I would like it to stay private.”

Shiro nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Although, this does raise the question of how you knew where I lived?”

Allura sighed, lacing her hands together. “There had been rumors that you’d gone to live at that address with a friend after the accident. It was honestly just fortune smiling upon us that you were actually there.”

_It was honestly just chance that you decided to come_ , Shiro heard the meaning behind her words almost as if she had spoken them out loud. He fixed his gaze on her, fighting to keep his arms on his lap and not crossed over his chest. “You mentioned Zarkon. Why?”

A distant look came into Allura’s eyes as she looked down at the desk. “Many years ago, even before I was born, Altea was a highly successful company. We worked with artists throughout the country, even thinking about expanding globally. Then, ten years ago, one of our artists betrayed us. He pulled out all these false claims, bringing up hundreds of lawsuits against the current director at the time, my father Alfor. Each one was nothing but slanderous lies, and yet…. somehow, he was able to procure evidence to back up his accusations. Eventually he and Alfor came to an agreement: Alfor could keep the company, but he had to pay such exorbitant fees that we might as well have lost the company. The artist took his earnings, and with it, founded Galra Records and worked viciously to put us out of business.”

“Zarkon,” Shiro breathed. Allura nodded, hands tightening as she continued her story.

“My father worked very hard to keep Zarkon from completely destroying the company. We mostly have worked with grassroots, underground, and Indie music groups. But, well…once they get fame, they’ve left us for bigger and more successful companies.”

“Companies like Galra.”

“Yes; it would not be the first time we’ve lost an artist to Zarkon. Eventually the stress took its toll on my father, and he passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro immediately responded. Allura smiled sadly, eyes still trained on her hands on the desk.

“I appreciate your condolences; he was a good man.” Allura muttered, “But, his death comes as a blessing in disguise, because with it we have the funds to be able to produce an artist truly worthy of fighting against Galra’s.”

Shiro blinked, realization dawning upon him. “You want me to perform and produce music as a way to put Galra out of business?”

Allura nodded, meeting his surprised gaze with her own determined one. “Yes. Coran and I believe that with your previous fans and history, you would be able to become famous enough to not only put this company back on the map, but to break up this monopoly that Zarkon has on the industry.”

Shiro stared at his hands, mind racing a mile a minute with this new information. He was Allura and Coran’s last hope, their last chance at getting back at Zarkon for destroying their lives and indirectly killing Alfor. He clenched his fists, feeling his agreement to offer rising in his throat, ready to commit to the idea of dedicating the rest of his career to fighting Zarkon in a battle of sales…but the memories slammed into him, stopping the words short in his throat and choking him. Memories of those long nights being berated and screamed at…memories of the emotional and physical abuse that he witnessed and endured…memories of t _he weight of the lights crushing his arm, the smell of burning flesh, Matt’s voice crying out his name…_.

“I understand if you need time,” Allura’s voice cut through the haze his mind had created. His head jerked up, eyes blinking rapidly as he focused on the concern on her face. “It is a lot to process.”

Shiro shook his head, reminding himself to breathe. “No, it’s…it’s not that. I _want_ to, more than anything else, it’s just…just…”

“The memories?”

He nodded, head hanging in shame. “I don’t think I could handle it alone.”

Allura hummed, fingertip tapping against the wood of her desk as she weighed his words carefully. “Well…we weren’t planning on restarting the group until we had more in profits, but…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back when the company was just starting, my father created a group known as Voltron, comprised of five members. He fashioned the group after the pop idol groups in Japan and Korea; a group that falls under the same name, but if a member leaves for whatever reason they can just find a new member and keep the group going. It worked very well, and Voltron became adapted to almost every genre of music throughout its time due to the different styles of its members. Unfortunately, while it was wildly popular, when Zarkon took Altea to court, it was the first thing to be dismantled due to its upkeep costs. It may be the only thing whose notoriety would be more powerful than yours, and it could end disastrously, but if it works….” Allura grinned, “We may have just the tool needed to defeat Zarkon without you working alone.”

Shiro mulled over the idea; he had collaborated with a few artists before, but if their collaboration failed it usually never made a dent in his popularity. But this…this was relying on four other people who could easily make or break him. Four people who would undoubtedly see him at his worst more often than at his best. But while these thoughts were intimidating, the thought of doing it all alone crept at the corners of his mind, promising blind panic and an inability to breathe if he entertained them.

“As long as I get to sit in on auditions,” Shiro blurted out, mouth moving faster than his mind. Allura blinked, surprise evident on her features before she schooled her expression into one of polite enthusiasm.

“Of course! After all, you will be the leader of this group; the ‘Black Paladin’, as we’ve called them in the past.” Allura said, reaching into a drawer as she spoke. She pulled out a notepad, a pen, and a business card, pushing the items towards Shiro. “Here is my number and email, in case you have any questions,” Allura said, pointing at the card, “And, if you could just write your contact information down?”

Shiro nodded, grasping the pen as he wrote his cellphone number down on the pad offered to him. He pushed the pad of paper back at Allura, who had yet to stop smiling since his agreement. She picked it up, tearing the page off the pad and setting it next to her computer.

“Either I or Coran will contact you when we decide to set up auditions,” She said, immediately turning back to her computer, “Do you know your way out?”

“Um…yes, I believe I do.”

She nodded, clearly distracted by the work she set before her. “Good; I hope to speak with you again soon.”

“Likewise,” Shiro said, pushing himself out of the chair. He headed towards the door, giving one last glance over his shoulder at Allura. She was furiously typing away at the desktop, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips as she stared intently at the screen. He smiled, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

“So you accepted their offer, huh?”

Shiro jumped at the voice, turning to face Pidge as they leaned against the wall. He sighed, placing a hand over his heart in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“What are you doing here?”

Pidge shrugged, pushing their glasses up their nose. “I saw you in the lobby, and I figured since we’re going to be working together I should get to know you better.”

“I see…And does Matt know you’ve applied to work here under a fake name?”

Pidge frowned, putting their hands on their hips. “Yes, actually. He even helped create the background information for the fake alias so that I wouldn’t be found out.”

“I believe that’s illegal.” Shiro stated, though he couldn’t hold back the smile on his face even if he tried. It was so like Katie and Matt to do something like this that he could hardly believe any time had passed at all. Pidge shrugged, hands falling at their sides at his statement.

“It’s only illegal if you get caught doing it. Otherwise, it’s perfectly fine.”

Shiro chuckled. “It’s good to see you haven’t changed Katie. Or should I be calling you Pidge now?”

Pidge tapped her finger to her chin, mockingly thinking about the answer. “Hmm…well, I guess since it’s you, you can call me Katie in private. But anywhere else, like this hallway, it’s Pidge.”

“Understood…Pidge.” Shiro replied, giving a knowing wink. Pidge laughed, smile lighting up her face, and for a moment Shiro could pretend that he was just visiting Matt’s family during one of their rare free moments. That Matt had just gone off somewhere to grab more snacks and drinks, maybe even get their dog Rover to join in on the fun. Pidge noticed the faraway look in Shiro’s eyes and frowned, painfully familiar with the look of a man lost in better days.

“He misses you, you know.”

Shiro’s head jerked slightly, almost as if he had been dozing and Pidge awakened him. She suddenly felt smaller than she already was, finding her shoes far more fascinating than his gaze.

“Matt…He misses you a lot. He…blames himself, for what happened. Says he knew he shouldn’t have pushed for it, that with his luck it’d be terrible.”

“He shouldn’t,” Shiro muttered, voice wracked with guilt for the pain he’d been causing Matt. “I knew the dangers associated with it, and I still wanted to go for it. If anything, it’s my fault for encouraging him.”

“You should tell him that. Talk out all your feelings and stuff.”

Shiro shook his head, feeling his heart clench with fear at the idea of talking to Matt once again. Would Matt hate him, despise him for the pain Shiro had unintentionally put the Holt family through? Through the storm of emotions and what-if’s he heard Pidge sigh; he felt her hand rest on his elbow in a comforting manner. He looked down, seeing Pidge’s sad smile directed up at him.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” She sniffed, eyes beginning to water up. Shiro nodded mutely, pulling Pidge into a hug and letting her cry quietly into the fabric of his vest. It was the least he could do for a family who treated him as one of their own that he had irrevocably destroyed.

* * *

 

The college’s workout room was for once filled with to the brim with various students from all majors. It was the end of the semester, and everyone was there for various reasons: preparing for beach season, working off finals stress, or just because they enjoyed exercise.

And sometimes, Lance mused as he eyed the short shorts of the girls running on the treadmill, a person could come to have a bit of fun. He tousled his short brown hair a bit, inserting his headphones into his ears and turning on his favorite song. He smirked, hearing the song slowly build up, the rapid Spanish rap filling his ears. He swayed his hips as he walked, looking as if he owned the entire building and decided to make it his own personal runway.

“ _A ella le gusta la gasolina, dame mas gasolina_ ,” Lance sang along in perfect sync; he flashed a smile over to the girls who looked over. Some rolled their eyes, others blushed at the attention, and one or two happened to do both. He would certainly have to visit the ones that did both; feisty and interested were definitely his favorite type. But first, he should look at the notice board that hung in the corner before he began any extraneous cardio. After all, this was where Lance found some of the wilder parties and events on campus; it wasn’t rare for Lance to make his weekend plans based off what the board offered.

Today, despite it being the end of the semester, there was a sore lack of parties being advertised. Lance scoffed; bunch of nerds lived on this campus apparently. His attention was caught by a rather interesting flier, tabs cut at the bottom for people to rip off as they pleased. He decided to take a closer look, figuring that it was a research study looking for willing participants and offering to pay in either gift cards or actual cash.

_Auditions being held for the newest incarnation of Altea’s Team Voltron!_

_With special guest judge and Voltron’s new Black Paladin, Takashi Shirogane!_

_All interested parties should come to the following location on these dates._

Lance’s eyes widened as he grasped the flier, nearly tearing it off the board in his haste. A chance to not only finally reach stardom, but a chance to meet the Takashi Shirogane, voice of a generation? Lance had already run out the gym and pressed speed dial for his friend, a tab grasped tightly in his hands.

“Hunk, have I got some awesome news!”

* * *

 

It was the first day of the auditions, and once again Keith had agreed to accompany Shiro to the location. Allura, Coran, and Pidge were already inside, setting up recording, video, and sound systems Despite not actually being the one to audition, Shiro felt nervous; what if they didn’t find anyone? Would he still have to do it alone? What if they did find four other members, and they turned out to all be terrible people?

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts; he turned to see Keith staring up at him, a concerned look on his face. Shiro did his best to reassure him, resting his own hand on top and giving a smile.

“Not too late to back out and go home to watch Jeopardy,” Keith offered, a teasing note in his voice. Shiro chuckled, pushing Keith’s hand off his shoulder as he headed inside.

“And listen to you whine about me winning? I’ll pass.”

The door to the building creaked open, drowning out Keith’s unintelligible grumbling. Allura smiled as she spotted Shiro from across the room, waving her greeting. Shiro waved back, heading over after he gave Keith his signature “be on your best behavior” look; Keith rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Allura said, her entire being seeming to vibrate with energy. “Pidge and Coran have gotten most of the systems set up in the auditioning room already. I’ll show you the way and let you get settled in.” Allura pushed the door open, holding it for Shiro. He blinked, heading through the doorway; as Keith went to follow however, he was stopped by a hand on his chest. He glared at Allura, who merely met his scowl with a schooled expression of neutrality.

“Sorry, but everyone who is auditioning has to wait out here until we call them.” She spoke, tone full of authority and missing the gentle kindness that she had given Shiro the other day. “Please go sign in and wait for your name to be called.”

“Allura, he’s with me,” Shiro said, placing his left hand on her shoulder, “I asked him to come and sit beside me for…moral support.”

“Yeah, so let me through.” Keith spat out, pushing her hand off his chest. Allura frowned, eyebrows drawing together as she regarded him.

“As…touching, as that is, I’m afraid that I can’t allow that,” Allura replied, turning her attention to Shiro. From behind her, Shiro could see Keith’s hands ball into fists as he glared daggers into her back. “Only judges, members of the company, and those auditioning are allowed back here.”

“If you’re gonna talk about me, you should do it to my fucking face,” Keith growled; Allura spun around, shock at being addressed evident on her face. Shiro merely rested his head in his hand, dragging his palm down his face as he prayed to a higher power for things to resolve themselves.

“Excuse me? How dare you talk that way! Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah, the bitch that’s keeping me from helping Shiro.”

Coran and Pidge had stuck their heads out now to see what the commotion was about. Shiro saw Pidge’s face split into a devious grin; she had heard stories about Keith’s infamous temper and impulsivity, and how it always resulted in interesting situations.

“I also happen to be the _bitch_ who owns this property and can have you removed from it,” Allura seethed, leaning down to get into Keith’s face. “So if you really wish to help your friend, then either audition or get out of my building!”

A tense silence began, in which Shiro could almost see literal electricity fly between Keith and Allura’s glares. Looking back, he probably should have cleared this with Allura before assuming that it would be alright; now, there was nothing left to do but break up the fight. Just as he stepped forward though, he heard Keith growl, breaking his gaze from Allura.

“Fine,” He spat, “I’ll audition. _But_ , I’m doing it now.”

“Fair.”

“ _And_ if I get in, I’m sitting in and putting my input in.”

As if a switch had been flipped, Alllura’s entire demeanor changed back to sweet and high energy. “Of course! After all, we’d want the both of you to like whoever you work with.”

Keith grumbled, pushing past her and stalking towards the room where Coran and Pidge had disappeared back into. Shiro followed after him, ignoring the victorious air that Allura wore as she walked.

“Keith, really, you don’t have to do this for me.” Shiro said, opening the door for him. Keith rolled his eyes, frown marring his face as he flipped through his phone.

“Tch, it’s not even about you right now,” Keith muttered darkly, glaring at Allura, “It’s about telling her to shove it.”

From the corner, Shiro could hear Pidge failing to keep her snickers quiet. Shiro sighed, knowing that once Keith had his mind set on something, it was unlikely that he would change it.

“Alright,” He said, lifting his hands in defeat, “Just…try not to make a _total_ ass of yourself?”

“Just go sit down.” Shiro nodded, moving to his spot in the middle of the table. On his left sat Allura, pen moving rapidly as she wrote something down on the pad of paper before her. He noticed he also had one; he figured that was for writing down specific names and thoughts.

“Alright Keith,” Allura said, setting the pen aside and folding her hands in front of her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Shiro saw the look on Keith’s face, and instantly his stomach dropped as he recognized the look that inevitably gave him a massive headache. _This_ was the look Keith had when Shiro thought Iverson was actually going to knock him into next Tuesday; _this_ was the look that Keith wore when he decided to jump Red over a canyon. This was the look that, no matter how much Shiro begged and pleaded, always guaranteed some form of trouble.

“My name is Keith, and I’m auditioning to be Shiro’s moral support and personally to say ‘fuck you’ to Allura.”

And over the sound of electric guitars and heavy drums, Shiro swore that he heard Allura’s calm and graceful demeanor crack.

Shiro had heard Keith sing as he cooked and showered, usually something that had lots of guitar, drums, and gritty lyrics. Despite his rough appearance his voice was soft and melodic, suited for soft songs played on pianos and guitars, or at least unplugged versions of his favorite songs. Not for…

_Dickhead, fuckface_

_Cock-smoking, mother-fucking_

_Asshole, dirty twat_

_Waste of semen, I hope you die, hey_

…Whatever it was he just sang to Allura, Jesus _Christ_.

“Enough,” Allura slammed her hands on the table, interrupting the song. Keith paused it, smirking as he gave a mock bow. Off to the sides, Coran and Pidge watched the unfolding horror show with some mixture of amusement and fear.

“So what did you think,” Keith asked, arms crossed over his chest as he raised an eyebrow in challenge. Before Allura could even begin to voice the millions of complaints she had Shiro raised his hand, fixing Keith with his stare.

“If you’re going to make an ass of yourself, you can leave.” For all the world, Keith looked as if the wind had been knocked out of him; his shoulders hunched forward slightly, eyes blinking owlishly at Shiro’s words. It wasn’t often that Shiro was harsh with Keith, but when he was it always did it’s intended effect of stopping whatever trouble he had gotten himself into.

“But…. Shiro, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Shiro snapped, “What you just did was disrespectful not just to Allura, but to me. If you want to be helpful, then drop the attitude and be serious; otherwise, you need to leave.”

The absolute betrayal and fear that appeared on Keith’s face made Shiro’s heart clench painfully. But as soon as the look was there it was gone, replaced by a more neutral expression as he scrolled through his phone. Shiro slumped back into his chair, hearing Allura huff as she leaned back as well, arms crossed over her chest. He turned towards her, readying an apology, but Keith had made his selection, the music already beginning. Already he could tell it was a better choice; the tone was softer, the guitars less angry and drums mostly for keeping rhythm.

_Memories consume, like opening the wound_

_I’m picking me apart again_

Shiro recognized the song; sometimes Keith hummed and sang it under his breath on days when he felt he screwed up and the world seemed a little less forgiving than usual. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Allura lean forwards, her body language becoming less tense as her face betrayed her shock. While he knew that Keith had a nice voice, he hadn’t expected the total command of attention that he was able to get from Allura after such a vulgar display earlier. Perhaps it was the way that Keith didn’t hold back any of the emotions; similar to how he was around Shiro, his singing was highly expressive, creating a colorful tapestry with the music acting as the weave, guiding each line into its rightful place. The way he delivered the lyrics, his stance…Shiro could tell that not only was he putting his all into it, but that he was delivering a handmade apology to everyone in the room for how he acted earlier. As the song faded out and Keith met Shiro’s gaze, he couldn’t stop the grin that overtook him at the bashful look on his friend’s face.

Allura cleared her throat, garnering the attention of everyone else. “Well, I think that performance is a marked improvement.” She said, shooting Keith a small smile. “With Shiro’s permission, I would love to extend an offer to you to not only be his ‘moral support’, but to be our Red Paladin.”

Shiro laughed at the widening of Keith’s eyes, his expression comical as he whipped his head to look at Shiro. “I’m more than okay with it,” Shiro responded, grey eyes meeting Keith’s, “But at the end of the day, it’s Keith’s decision.”

All eyes turned to Keith, waiting to see how he would respond. The tension was palpable, thick enough that you could cut it with a knife. Then Keith smiled, and it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from everyone’s shoulders.

“Where do I sign?”

* * *

 

Lance sighed, leg bouncing uncontrollably as he sat slouched in his seat. He and Hunk had gotten there bright and early only to see that the lobby was filled with other people, each wanting their own chance at stardom or to just “catch a glimpse of _The Champion_ ”. His own stomach was growling, as he had refused to eat anything heavy in fear of it affecting his voice and dancing. His only solace was in watching various contestants run out the doors crying, obviously having been rejected by the panel in the room.

“Dude, you sure you don’t want any?” Came a voice to his right; Lance glanced over, seeing his best friend Hunk offering a bag of chips to him. Hunk was a large man, skin a similar dark shade to Lance’s, though perhaps a bit darker. In his other hand he clutched a piece of paper; his resume, as Hunk had seen an ad for stage crew for the company. Lance scrunched up his nose, pushing the bag away from him.

“No way man, salt will totally wreck my vocal chords.” Lance replied, “Gotta keep myself hydrated. Then afterwards, you and I will go out for the biggest most ridiculous lunch this city has ever _seen_.”

“There’s not exactly a lot of big ridiculous lunch places around here on a budget.” Hunk replied, staring wistfully at the floor. “Well I mean, unless you count that one buffet place that’s just outside the city limits.”

“My man, you know I am.”

“Er, is there a Lance here,” An Australian accented voice called out. Lance jerked his entire body up, running towards the door.

“Me, me, that’s me, right here ready for take-off!” Lance said, skidding to a stop in front of the man. The man twirled his orange mustache, immediately turning around and heading through the doors. Lance followed after him, aura exuding confidence despite the butterflies in his stomach; Hunk trailed behind, ready to give the moral support needed. The mustachioed man opened a door, revealing a room big enough for any dance moves that Lance had planned. Across the room sat three people, one of which Lance immediately recognized as his idol Takashi Shirogane. The dark-skinned woman sitting to Shiro’s left, while unknown, was certainly someone Lance wished to get to know better after all of this was over, whether he got in or not. He glanced at the scowling dark-haired man sitting to Shiro’s right, giving him a once over before directing his attention to the two more prominent catches to his attention.

“My name is Allura, and it’s a pleasure to meet you,” The woman, Allura, spoke in a British accent. Lance inwardly cheered; he _loved_ girls with accents. “What’s your name?”

“The name’s Lance,” He said, gesturing towards her with finger guns, “Although you can just call me ‘the next big thing’.”

The man on Shiro’s right tilted his head back, taking a deep breath through his nose. Shiro placed his prosthetic hand on his shoulder, as if trying to calm him, before he addressed Lance.

“And what will you be auditioning with today Lance?”

“Only the best party song currently in existence,” Lance said, jerking his thumb back at Hunk. “Hit it!”

Lance shook his shoulders out as Hunk pressed play on the stereo. Instantly, an auto-tuned voice flowed through the room; the man sitting next to Shiro dragged his hand down his face, apparently sick of the song already. Lance narrowed his eyes, mouth opening to begin singing, determined to change that expression to one of shock and awe.

_Players, put yo' pinky rings up to the moon_

At the word “moon”, Lance slid out, feet gliding across the floor. The three judges blinked; clearly they hadn’t been expecting a dance routine with the song. Lance grinned, more than ready to surprise them as he danced his own routine smoothly. As soon as he had heard about the audition, he had immediately spent any free time he had on developing and practicing this routine. He moved his hips suggestively towards the table, making sure to make eye contact with each of them.

_Don't look too hard might hurt ya'self_

_Known to give the color red the blues_

At that, he gave the man on Shiro’s right who just happened to be wearing red a wink; he heard Hunk and the techie in the corner snicker, while his victim didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture. Lance smirked; clearly that was a challenge to up the charm. He slid over, making sure to sit on the edge of the table right next to red, leaning in and raising a hand to the man’s face.

_Why you mad, fix ya face ain't my fault y'all be jocking. Keep up!_

He patted the man’s face before swiftly moving away; he almost laughed in the middle of the chorus as an audible growl of displeasure left Red’s mouth. Shiro and Allura’s mouths quirked upwards in smiles, clearly amused at his antics. Lance could at least concede that two out of three wasn’t bad; besides, he noticed Red had a _mullet_ , of all hairstyles. Clearly if that man couldn’t be trusted with his hair, then his judgement on anything else should instantly be voided. With that comforting thought in mind, Lance continued to perform, confidence boosted as he saw Shiro and Allura’s feet begin to tap underneath the table. He winked and sent finger guns to Allura, body rolling smoothly as he sang out a “hey girl”; she froze, seemingly unsure what to do with it, while Shiro merely laughed. As the song began to start the bridge, the beat building up the slow grind, Lance couldn’t help but wonder how she’d react to _this_.

Lance spun, dropping his body almost perpendicular to the floor; the judge’s scrambled to look over the table, making sure he was actually alright. Lance immediately pushed himself back up, doing an entire body roll before strutting his way towards the center of the room. He hadn’t quite perfected the execution during his practices, but his philosophy was to go big or go home, and this was certainly going big. The sensation of all eyes on him, each and every breath held for his next move… _this_ was the thrill that he was always seeking, whether through misbehavior or stellar performances. As the song began its climatic chorus he pushed himself into the backflip, tucking his long legs up into his chest; he landed perfectly, the applause and gasps of surprise fueling him to put extra energy into the final chorus. He shimmied his shoulders, fists pumping the air as he sang enthusiastically, for a moment feeling like he was actually on the stage instead of in some auditioning room. Soon though the song began to fade out, prompting him to drop to his knees and slide forward, chest heaving and his arms spread wide as if meant to gather up the praise and applause fans would give; he would find he wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Splendid,” Allura clapped, glancing over at Shiro, “Lance certainly has a commanding presence, doesn’t he?”

“He does.” Shiro nodded, a small smile gracing his features. “Kind of reminds me of when I was still performing.”

Lance practically beamed; being told that he, little nobody Lance, reminded his idol Takashi Shirogane of himself? Clearly he must have broken his neck during his audition, because this was way too good to be true.

“Maybe if he focused on singing more than dancing there’d be something to praise.”

Nope, clearly this was reality if there were red wearing mullets spitting out slanderous _lies_ about his audition in an effort to ruin his post-performance buzz. Lance pulled himself off his knees, brushing his pants off as he glared at the mullet. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” He said smugly, arms crossed over his chest, “You didn’t hit _any_ of the high notes that song has, and since I’ve heard it twenty times today I _know_ where you screwed up.”

“Alright, so my range is mid-baritone to mid-tenor; so sue me!” Lance crossed his arms over his chest, gaze locking with the mullet’s. “Bet you’re a tenor; you guys are always so high and mighty, looking down on anyone who can’t hit those notes.”

Somehow he managed to narrow his eyes even more, which Lance would have found impressive if he wasn’t currently angry at him. “It’s not a matter of my vocal range, but rather you focusing more on the dance aspect than the singing aspect. You have to be able to do both.”

“Well at least I can dance, unlike someone in here.”

_That_ was definitely a growl coming from Red, who was currently pushing his chair backwards. Before he could make any other moves though, Shiro placed his prosthetic arm across his body in an effort to stop.

“Enough Keith,” Shiro commanded sternly, “You’ve already made at least ten people cry today; I’m not letting you give one a black eye just because they annoy you.” Keith scowled, slumping back into his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever,” He grumbled, jerking his head towards Hunk. “Just let the big guy audition and you two can leave.”

Lance and Hunk looked at each other, both surprised. “Who, Hunk? Naw man, he’s not here to audition; he’s my moral support!”

Keith smirked looking over at Shiro and Allura, both of whom cradled their heads in their hands as if they suddenly realized a horrible mistake. “Oh really? Well that’s funny, because when _I_ tried to be moral support, someone told me that I had to audition if I wanted to be back here. Isn’t that right Allura?”

Allura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yes, that is technically what I told you.”

“And we can’t make any exceptions to the rules, right Allura?”

“ _Yes_ , I believe that is the gist of what I implied earlier.”

Keith turned back to look at Lance, looking as if this was a game of chess and he had five different ways to capture Lance’s king. “Well, you heard her: time for your friend’s audition.”

Lance spluttered, gesturing wildly. “That’s…you can’t…it’s…meet me in the pit mullet!”

“Tch, have to rely on memes because you can’t formulate real sentences?”

“Too chicken to fight me so you make jabs instead?”

Keith began shrugging off his jacket. “If you wanted your ass kicked, should’ve just said so.”

Just as Lance was about to retort, he felt a large hand grasp his shoulder and push him back. He stared at the broad back of Hunk in shock, noticing how despite his confident stance there was a slight tremble to his limbs.

“Hunk, what are you doing,” Lance asked, “You don’t have to listen to what Keith says, he has a _mullet_!”

“It’s alright Lance,” Hunk said, offering his brightest smile despite his nerves. “I’ll just audition, and then we can go out for that buffet you promised without any critical injuries.”

Lance nodded mutely, walking to Hunk’s spot at the back of the room. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Hunk stand in the center of the room like a hawk. He knew Hunk had problems with being the center of attention; namely, if he didn’t take an anti-emetic medication beforehand, there was a very high chance he would throw up. He had seen it happen on occasion during high school, and had promptly got into fights with kids who dared to make fun of Hunk. With medication and time, it got better; though after an important presentation Hunk would still run off to the bathroom to vomit.

_Wise men say_

_Only fools rush in_

_But I can't help falling in love with you_

So lost in thought Lance had been that he hadn’t even noticed that Hunk’s song had begun; what he did notice was the rich bass accompanying it that filled the room. He felt his entire body relax, hands dropping to his sides as he stared at Hunk’s back in awe. He had heard Hunk hum before as he cooked, but he never actually had heard him sing out loud. Like himself, Hunk’s voice soothed over frayed nerves and chased the tension out of the room until all that was left was a serenity so peaceful that it bordered on ethereal. It created the feeling of being engulfed in a warm gentle bear hug, complete with someone stroking his hair and telling him it’d be alright. Lance didn’t notice that he was holding his breath in fear of breaking the spell until his lungs begged him for air; judging by the sudden rise of everyone else’s chests, it looked like he wasn’t the only one. Even Keith, the angry asshole that Lance had deemed him to be, looked like he finally got the stick pulled out of his butt.

As the song began to fade out, Lance hollered and clapped, immediately startling the rest of the room back to the present. Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, feet shuffling on the ground as he glanced downwards. Immediately Lance ran over, wrapping his arms around Hunk’s neck; he noted the flush on Hunk’s face.

“Dude, that was incredible,” Lance said, patting him on the back, “I’ve been your best friend since like forever, and I didn’t know you could sing! Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?”

Hunk twiddled his fingers, flush increasing. “Ah well, you know, with the whole stage fright thing I don’t really like to broadcast it to the world.” As soon as he mentioned ‘stage fright’, his face began to pale as his stomach gave an audible gurgle. “Uh, speaking of which…where’s your restroom? Or nearest trash can that’s not here?”

“Coran can show you.” Allura said, gesturing over to the man with the orange mustache. Coran nodded, stepping forward and guiding Hunk away from the center of the room and opening the door.

“Right down the hall to your left.”

Hunk nodded, one hand clasped over his mouth and the other clutching his stomach as he sprinted out of the room. Lance was hot on his heels, looking like a worried mother as he shouted after Hunk; all they could make out was something involving the women’s bathroom. Shiro, Keith, and Allura shared looks with each other before shrugging their shoulders and organizing their papers.

“Coran, could you please get the next prospective?”

* * *

 

Allura leaned back in her chair, setting her headphones aside as she massaged her temples, staring up at the ceiling. The auditions had lasted for a few days, and after each day she collected the list of potential candidates that she, Shiro, and Keith had compiled. She frowned as she stared specifically at Keith’s list; it was significantly shorter than Shiro’s, and next to the name Lance were several colorful descriptors. She wasn’t exactly sure if it was a blessing or curse that Lance was on both hers and Shiro’s lists. After handing the lists to Pidge, Pidge had cross-referenced each of the lists and then created various samples using a music program and their recorded auditions to simulate what each potential group of Voltron would sound like. While Allura was particular to any grouping that had Shiro, Keith, Lance, and Hunk, she wasn’t satisfied with the harmonies Pidge was able to simulate with a fifth member.

_“Perhaps we need to hold more auditions,”_ Allura thought, staring at her computer screen. _“Or maybe we can be successful with just four members? It would be more cost effective…”_

Allura unfortunately already knew the answer to that; she had listened to a sample with just Keith, Shiro, Lance, and Hunk. Despite how wonderful it sounded, it was missing a certain _something_ that she couldn’t put her finger on. Someone who could hit notes higher than Keith if they really needed to…someone who could do falsetto?

Allura growled, slamming her hands against the desk as she pushed her chair back. She had been cooped up in her office for too long; she needed either a break, a shot of caffeine, or a combination of both. Perhaps she’d find Pidge and Coran, see if they wanted to go and grab dinner together before returning to work. Before she could really plan out where they should go that was within their budget, she heard a faint sound of drums coming from the audition room.

_What a wonderful caricature of intimacy_

_Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy_

Allura tilted her head, carefully making her way towards the room. She knew Coran had a habit of listening to music as he worked, singing along loudly and quite out of tune. But this wasn’t Coran’s voice, nor was it a song that she had ever heard him listen to. As she poked her head into the doorway, her eyes widened at the sight before him.

There, spinning like a whirling dervish around the room as he dismantled everything and sang along to the music was Pidge. His movements went with the beat and the rhythm of the music, unplugging a chord here or pulling a camera down from the wall there. Allura saw the smile on Pidge’s face as he paused, setting down a piece of equipment before spinning to the center of the room.

_There are no…_

Pidge began to dance; it wasn’t nearly as impressive as Lance’s, looking more like a bastardized version of ballet that one would do with their family or in the privacy of their room. But the fluidity and grace that accompanied his movements, coupled with his voice, wove a spell that could easily fool one into thinking that Pidge was a professional. Allura found that she couldn’t tear her gaze away, feeling her breath catch in her throat and a grin form on her face. As the music turned to an orchestral instrumental break, Allura knew what she would do with this newfound information. Her conviction only grew as Pidge sang along to the song, eyes closed as he swayed the music and voice following the rise and fall of the crescendos. All too soon the song ended, Pidge giving a bow to the room; Allura clapped, startling Pidge into standing up straight and adjusting his glasses.

“Oh, Ms. Allura,” He said, coughing into his hand; a blush was prominent on his cheeks. “I, uh, I-I was just cleaning up in here. Is there something you need?” Allura nodded, stepping into the room. “I need you to create your own vocal sample so that I can run a simulation with Keith’s, Shiro’s, Lance’s, and Hunk’s.”

Pidge blinked, clearly not expecting that request to be spoken. “I…what?”

Allura smiled, hands clasped in front of her. “How would you like to be a Paladin of Voltron?”

* * *

 

“Can you believe this Hunk? We’re both Paladins of Voltron! Both of us! This is like, the best news _ever_!”

“What about that time you were the only one in your class to ace astrophysics,” Hunk asked, gesturing with his chicken nugget. Lance looked up at the ceiling, tapping his lips with a French fry in a thoughtful manner.

“That _was_ pretty good news…” Lance muttered, redirecting his gaze to the table. He grinned, raising his gaze to Hunk’s. “But, I think being able to say I’m going to be working with _the_ Takashi Shirogane with my best bud in the entire universe trumps everything else.”

Hunk placed a hand over his heart, a fond smile on his face. “Aw, Lance, that’s so sweet.”

“Plus I think that hot British chick is our _boss_.”

“Well, it was sweet,” Hunk rolled his eyes, going back to studying as Lance ranted about their new job; those robots weren’t going to build themselves for his finals.

* * *

 

_“You’re **what**?” _

Pidge flinched, holding her phone away from her ear as Matt screeched into the phone. Once she was sure that it was safe, she brought it back. “I’m the new Green Paladin of Voltron.”

_“I can’t believe this,”_ Matt replied, _“Katie we made that profile so you could be a **techie** , not to be…to be a walking target for Zarkon’s cruelty!” _

“Allura said I could still help with tech work.”

_“That’s not the point of this conversation and you know it.”_

Pidge sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leaned back in her chair. “Everything will be alright Matt; I’ve got very powerful allies.”

_“Powerful as in connections?”_

“No, more like I’m pretty sure Allura can bench press both of us and the Red Paladin has like no self-preservation instincts.” Pidge stated, examining her nails. “He called Allura a bitch to her face and then auditioned with Green Day’s Platypus.”

_“Isn’t that the one that…?”_

Pidge grinned. “The very same.”

Laughter could be heard at the other end of the line; faintly she could hear their dog barking as he investigated the new noise. Pidge was suddenly hit by a sharp pang of homesickness as she imagined herself there, sitting in Matt’s room surrounded by junk food as she relayed the story.

_“Oh my God,”_ Matt wheezed, snapping Pidge out of her fantasy, _“How did Allura even let him in after that?”_

“Shiro is a very persuasive individual.”

The emotional shift of the conversation was frankly dizzying. _“Oh…Shiro’s there too?”_ Matt asked tentatively. _“How’s uh…how’s he doing?”_

Pidge shrugged, toying with the hem of her shirt. “Still incredibly jacked, if you can believe it. Dude must spend the whole day working out or something.”

_“That’s…that’s good, that’s good. Good to hear.”_

Pidge could practically see Matt sitting in front of her, fingers nervously playing with each other. She knew he wouldn’t ask what was really on his mind unless prompted, so she decided to take the plunge. “He misses you too, you know.”

_“Oh! He uh…h-he mentioned me?”_

“Yeah,” Pidge replied; it wasn’t a total lie, considering Shiro had asked if Matt knew. No reason to tell him that she was the one who had pushed the ‘missing you’ thing. “You should, you know, talk to him. Pretty sure his number hasn’t changed.”

She held her breath as she heard Matt sigh on the other end of the line; maybe this was the push he needed, she thought hopefully. Maybe now the two of them could go back to some semblance of normal, and Matt could smile and laugh freely again instead of spending days locked in his room wracked with guilt. Maybe some of the tension that she saw in Shiro’s shoulders would be released, and the three of them could go back to the days when the worst thing that happened was Rover peeing on Shiro.

_“I…I can’t Katie.”_ Matt said, voice so apologetic that it only exacerbated the crushing of that hope. _“At least…at least not yet. He’s probably dealing with a lot of stuff since he’s working again, and I don’t want to make anything worse. It’s the least I can do.”_

Pidge’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat; so much for that dream. “Yeah yeah, I get it. Don’t expect me to drop this though; now that I work with him, you’ll be getting updates all the time.”

_“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”_ She could hear the grin in Matt’s voice. _“So, since you saw Shiro, does that mean you’ve finally met the infamous Keith?”_

Pidge grinned in excitement. “Oh yes, and let me tell you this: Shiro’s stories do _not_ do him justice.”

* * *

 

Shiro was trying very hard to hold back his laughter at the dejected look on Keith’s face after they got the news from Allura about the new members of the Voltron besides themselves. “Come on, I’m sure Lance is a perfectly great person once you get to know him.”

Keith gave him the look that Shiro had come to associate with the phrase ‘I call bullshit on everything you just said’. “He said to fight him in a pit.”

“To be fair you instigated it.”

“He could’ve been the bigger person,” Keith whined, hands flailing out to the side. This, coupled with the semi-pout on his face that made him look like some rejected kitten, proved too much for Shiro as he snickered into his left hand. The response was instantaneous: Keith glowered darkly at Shiro, which only caused Shiro to laugh harder.

“Traitor,” He hissed, burying his head in his arms. Shiro merely rested his hand on his arm, laughter still going strong as he looked down at Keith; only thought crossed his mind.

_This is certainly going to be interesting._

**Author's Note:**

> I have a shit ton of headcanon lists for this, so ya know...hit up my tumblr (same as username) if you're interested


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